


Ensom

by yeaka



Series: A Honeycomb Tree [11]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Breathplay, Dominance, Dystopia, Gags, Half-Mirrorverse, Light Bondage, M/M, Master/Servant, Masturbation, Oral Sex, PWP, Rough Sex, Slurs, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is an asshole for a few days, and Jim’s not having it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Countdown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpesAbrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpesAbrin/gifts).



> A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SPESABRIN! I love you to death and did my best. ♥
> 
> This is set in an AU where the setting is similar to the mirror universe in some regards, but the characters are more similar to the regular ones. **Blanket warning** for the Terran Empire being a totalitarian dystopia with all its trickle-down issues, which tinges the servitude with hints of slavery. While this is written as pure harsh smut, please be aware of the problematic fantasy elements and your own comfort levels.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s one of those calm, pleasant dreams where he’s just sort of lazing about, lying in a bed of flowers. 

And then, not fading but bursting, reality is in the way. He’s fallen off the mattress, and he wakes a second after hitting the floor, yelping at the pain that sprints into his shoulder. He rolls over onto his front, pushing himself up, the cropped carpet seeming cold after the warmth and safety of the bed and blankets. He looks up over his shoulder, eyebrows knitting together as if to say, ‘ _why?_ ’

Bones isn’t looking back at him. Bones disappears from view, pushing off the bed on the other side, and Jim climbs back onto the mattress on his own. Bones is already fishing through drawers, bypassing the locked one, extracting clothes. Both are naked, and while Jim watches the muscles flex along Bones’ back, Jim whines, “What’d I do?” Because last he checked, _sleeping_ was hardly a crime.

But it’s always hard to tell with Bones. He’s grumpy even on the better days. He looks over his shoulder and scowls, “What kind of servant are you, lazing about all day? I shouldn’t have to wake you!”

Taken instantly aback, Jim grumbles, “Well _excuse_ me. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

He expects more banter; that’s how these things usually are, a stray, random argument here and there. Instead, Bones snaps, “Don’t talk to me like that. You’re a lazy, ungrateful _idiot_.” He storms across the room to the bathroom door. It opens automatically for him, sliding shut behind him, while Jim sits still in shock. 

He looks at the rumpled side of the bed where Bones woke up; there must be some sort of alien spores on it or something. Bones is naturally snappy, yes, but first thing in the morning? Over _nothing_? He’s not normally that big of an asshole. An asshole, yes, but with limits. 

Still, it’s not unfathomable. Jim considers heading into the bathroom; he can hear the shower turning on. Sometimes he cuts into those showers, but... today, it seems like a better idea not to. 

Instead, he slips off the bed, yawning and still feeling a little cold. Once he gets moving again, it won’t be so bad. He heads for the kitchenette in the other room and sets in for breakfast. He finds a Synthesizer chip for scrambled eggs, something Bones enjoys—Jim’s not entirely lazy. He feeds his master. Earns his pay. Now he feels defensive.

But he scolds himself for it; no need to go around with a chip on his shoulder—then there’ll just be two miserable people in their quarters. Instead, he should find a way to fix this, he knows. There’s something about Bones being upset that always _irks_ him, even if he is just an underling. 

Jim waits at the table, the metallic chair cold against his bare ass, and he doesn’t touch the food until Bones joins him. The shower didn’t improve Bones’ mood at all. He eats quickly and doesn’t talk.

Jim asks, “Do you want to fuck me over the table before you go?” But Bones just looks up at him, glaring. Frowning, Jim mumbles, “Okay,” and turns back to his plate. So much for cheering up. As little more than a pet, he doesn’t really have anything besides his body to offer. 

He sees Bones to the door.

* * *

Bones’ shifts are always boring. Jim knows that. He’s allowed out of Bones’ quarters, of course, even allowed to wear pants for it, but he doesn’t bother. The bad morning carries over to him, and instead, he cleans up, even though cleaning isn’t exactly his forte. He even folds all of Bones’ rumpled clothes in all the drawers for lack of anything better to do. There’s that one drawer he can’t get into—it’s DNA coded and locked—but otherwise, he straightens the whole bedroom. He makes the bed. 

He tells himself this is stupid, and he wills himself over to the desk with the console, flicking it on. Almost everything on it is locked, customary on Terran Empire ships with civilian passengers, and that position gives him zero security clearance. But he can do little, unimportant things, like order more Synthesizer chips and send transmissions to certain areas. He considers comming Captain Spock to see if he has any idea why Bones is being a particularly big dick today, but then figures he shouldn’t do that. It’s not really an emergency, and though he’s spoken to the captain once or twice before, he knows it’s not exactly kosher. He sighs. 

He thinks of Bones, his big-dick-ed Bones, and decides to risk comming sickbay anyway. He reaches down to his lap while he gives the computer instructions, and he pictures his master’s handsome face long before it actually appears on the screen. Just thinking about Bones can get him hot; his skin still prickles in places with the memories of being touched and used, caressed and kissed. He fought for this contract for the chance at space, fought to stay for the chance at _Bones_. He runs one hand along the back of his neck, over the places Bones likes to bite and heal, and the other hand wraps around his exposed cock. He licks his lips and pumps it once. It’s a shame he didn’t get fucked this morning; that probably could’ve eased whatever tension is clawing Bones apart. 

Bones appears on the screen and grumbles, _“What?”_

Jim pumps his cock and bites his lip, purring suggestively, “Do you have time for a naughty transmission?” His other hand slithers down to his chest while he talks, rubbing at one rosy nipple. He’d love to be tonguing Bones’ instead. The way Bones’ blue tunic stretches across his broad shoulders makes Jim stare. There’s a little bit of brown stubble on Bones’ chin; for once, he didn’t shave this morning. It looks good on him. 

_Everything_ looks good on him, and Jim knows very well that he’s incredibly lucky to serve such a gorgeous man. His last one was an older, ugly filler that couldn’t keep up with him but paid well. Bones is a _dream_.

Bones glares and says, _“I’m too old for that nonsense.”_

Jim grins. “I disagree, _master_.” He only ever uses that term when he’s being playful, when he’s bating Bones’ interest. He arches forward, and he purrs at the screen, fingers speeding up and putting a bit of a moan into his voice, “Please, you didn’t take me this morning, and now just thinking about you has me _so_ hot—I wish you were here to fuck me...”

 _“You’re such a brat.”_ The usual fondness isn’t in Bones’ voice. It makes Jim frown, but he quickly shoves it aside. He spreads his legs, even though Bones can’t see beneath the table, and licks his lips again, long and exaggerated, leaning forward, body curving and moving like the perfectly trained piece of eye-candy he is. 

He moans deliberately filthy, “Dr. McCoy, I think I’m getting a fever, I’m all hot and dizzy.” He bites his lip, hunching his shoulders, trying to be both sexy and adorable, and begs, “Please come take a look at me? My little hole feels _so_ empty, I really think you should look at it.” Then he bats his lashes, hoping he’s not too old himself to look coquettish, and asks, “Want to take a look?” Because he’ll happily stand up and present himself, stretch himself open with his fingers and beg Bones to rush back and fuck him hard, right here against the desk. 

Instead, Bones snaps, _“What part of ‘too old’ don’t you understand?”_

And the transmission cuts off, console going blank. Frowning, Jim tries to reopen the link, but his console’s been locked. 

Well that... sucks. 

For an Adonis with a cock the size of a baseball bat, Bones can really be a mood killer sometimes.

* * *

Bones doesn’t come back for lunch. He doesn’t come back for dinner. Jim eats alone, feeling sickeningly disappointed. He cleans again for no good reason and tries to hack the locked drawer just for something else to do. He tries the console again, but it’s still shut down. 

He’s only belonged to Bones for around a year, but honestly, it’s mostly been a good ride. Sure, he thought Bones was a complete asshole for the first month or so, sticking around just for the luxury of finally being _on a starship_ , and the Empire’s flagship, at that, but he found out soon enough that it’s just a front; Bones is something of a teddy bear deep down. Most ranking officers are scumbags, and a lot of doctors get into the profession just to see the sick and make them squirm. Bones genuinely _cares_ , and for the most part, he’s been a good master. 

And they’ve bonded more than Jim ever thought he could with someone. There’s a connection between them, something very close to friendship, something he’s almost considered love. He knows that shouldn’t be possible, not with their stations, but he still feels that’s what it is. 

And now, nearly a year later, Bones seems to have abruptly forgotten all of that. Maybe he’s grown bored with Jim. It’s been awhile, after all. Jim’s sure it’s been that length. When he thinks about it, it’s probably close to _exactly_ a year. Maybe one or two days off, but if he squints and pinpoints today’s date and events from back then, it makes sense. Captain Spock paid off the first chunk of Jim’s contract, presenting him like a gift to Bones around a week or so off today one year ago. 

And after all that time, building and growing, Bones chooses now to decide Jim’s just not interesting enough. Or, given Bones’ comments, too young. Which is just stupid. They can’t be _that_ far apart. And Jim’s had much, much older men, some old enough to be his father and one or two past that. 

Or maybe Bones is being a greedy asshole, just disappointed that Captain Spock hasn’t given him any sudden gifts for a while. That thought, at least, makes Jim smile. The captain really doesn’t seem the sort to give random gifts in the first place. 

Jim is, but he doesn’t have any possessions aboard to pass on. Still, it’s a thought. 

He has his body. That’s usually how he earns his keep. And, he decides, Bones needs _something_. Presents always cheer people up. 

There are a few simple things the Synthesizer can handle beyond food, and Jim goes through the rarely used extras compartment, certain items already in mind.

* * *

What would be the best, of course, is if he could bind himself completely: head to foot, complete immobile without his master’s mercy. But he can’t do that to himself, so he settles for decorative wrapping. He circles both his legs, tying bows on the outside of his thighs like cut-out stockings. He wraps one around his neck, down his chest, around his stomach and finishing at his cock, tied particularly tight over the base. He can feel it every time he shifts, and that helps keep him interested, helps keep him hard. He has to wrap his arms separately, but at the end, after several minutes of fiddling, he manages to tie his hands together. 

He kneels in front of the door a few minutes before Bones’ shift ends, and the mere thought of what his master will do to him makes his cheeks warm and his eyelids droop. He squirms and resists the urge to touch himself, resists rubbing his crotch against the carpet like a dog. Bones has never flat out treated him like a pet, but he sometimes gets the wriggling feeling that Bones would go for it.

Bones has never treated him too roughly at all, even though Jim knows Bones must have harder tastes. Jim sees the strange glances, remembers the quickly-retracted, off-handed suggestions. He’s never actively pursued it, always assuming that Bones likes him too much to hurt him and doesn’t want to risk what they have. Jim’s not about to push his master into cruelty. But now... he kind of wishes that Bones would just unleash it all: take all his stress out on Jim and cheer the hell up. 

He thinks about that while he waits, and it makes him groan, hanging his head and rocking his hips uselessly against the air. His palms are flat on the floor. Bones could split Jim in two if he wanted; he’s so _big_ and _powerful_ , and Jim doesn’t care if it doesn’t make sense, if it’s wrong, he _adores_ his Bones.

The door opens, Jim looking up. He’s breathing huskily, and his eyes flicker from Bones’ shocked face to the ever-present tent in Bones’ pants—a cock that big always makes a dent, hard or not. If Bones were just a few centimeters closer, Jim could lean forward and mouth at it, bury his face in the standard-issue fabric and breathe in the heady, masculine scent of _Bones_. He looks back up, desperate to be touched. 

Bones’ face slips from surprise into anger. He growls fiercely, “Who told you? And you’re early, you idiot.” Jim blinks, taken aback.

His eyebrows knit together. He asks, “Who told me what?” This was supposed to be a _good_ surprise. Bones has never complained about having Jim’s body before. In fact, Bones has occasionally told Jim how pretty he is. This wasn’t good? Bones’ cheeks are turning pink, but Jim can tell it’s not arousal. 

Bones kneels down and looks at him so sternly that Jim physically leans back. Bones squints, scrutinizing him. 

Gulping, Jim mumbles, “I just thought... you know, since you’ve been so grumpy all day, I thought maybe a present would cheer you up.” He gets the distinct impression Bones is trying to see if he’s lying. As if he’d have any reason at all to lie about his intentions. 

Bones suddenly reaches down to pull the bow loose over Jim’s wrists—the ribbon digs into his skin at the rough treatment, and he hisses at the cut. Then it falls apart, slithering from his skin, and he’s left to rub his wrists while Bones straightens back out. Jim stands up too. 

Bones brushes right past him, heading straight for the bedroom. Jim gets the distinct impression that he’s not meant to follow. And that _sucks_.

He wanders over to the doorway anyway, asking, voice wavering, “Have I done something wrong?” Any earlier interest he had is quickly dying.

Bones just broods by the dresser, pulling out civilian clothes. When he finally looks back at Jim, his expression falters for half a second. Jim doesn’t miss the way his eyes roam Jim’s wrapped body, and then he snaps, “You should’ve gone and played with someone your own age.” Which is just as preposterous as everything else he’s said today—obviously, Bones wasn’t too old to accept him a year ago. Looking back at the open drawer, Bones suggest bitterly, “Go fuck Sulu’s boy or something.”

Before he can help himself, Jim snorts, “Chekov’s hardly my own age.” Bones just glares at him, and he adds stubbornly, “Besides, it’s _you_ I want.” Jim has half a mind to cross the room and drape his body all over Bones, hump Bones like an animal until Bones finally takes him. He refuses to accept that Bones has gotten bored of him so suddenly. Yesterday, they were perfectly fine.

Well, maybe not yesterday—Bones was a little off yesterday too, but not this bad. They were perfectly fine a week ago or so. And Bones seems like the direct sort who would just say if he lost interest. But he hasn’t. Just in case, Jim asks, “ _Is_ it me?” Now _he’s_ getting bitter. “Are you just waiting for Captain Spock to give you a new toy?”

“Do I look like I need two of you?” Bones scowls. He starts to strip, ready to change, and Jim looks away. He doesn’t want to get aroused again, not if nothing will come of it. He’s had more than enough sexual frustration for one day. While Bones slips into a civilian top, he adds, “Stop acting like an insolent child; not everything has to do with you.” Knowing Bones, that could be his form of tender reassurance, simply wrapped in a bitter tone. 

When he’s finished, Bones brushes past Jim again, heading for the computer. He says without looking back, “Just leave me alone.”

Jim only listens because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

Sitting alone in the bedroom is infinitely more miserable than it was back when he had other unhappy masters. He _cares_ about this one. 

So he sits on the bed and feels small, waiting to be tired enough to fall asleep.

* * *

Jim half expects to be sent to the couch for no good reason, but he isn’t. He considers sleeping on floor; he’s done that before. Bones was actually the first one to allow him on furniture. In the semi-darkness of the bedroom, ruined only by the fake-stars of the faux-window, Jim rolls over. Bones is on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. 

Jim knows he shouldn’t, but he shifts over anyway, pressing a chaste kiss to Bones’ cheek. Bones ignores him. 

Jim lifts up on one arm and holds the blankets up, climbing to straddle Bones’ waist. Bones sleeps in his boxers, and Jim sits down on them, instantly grinding down and murmuring, “Please let me ride your cock.” He pushes all of his desperation into it, begging with his eyes for Bones to do this. He _needs_ that connection. It’s not even about the sex itself anymore; Jim just wants to feel _close_.

Bones grabs his waist to still him, and Jim’s face falls. Bones, less angry but no happier than earlier, grumbles, “I’m not in the mood.”

Jim wants to say that Bones is always in the mood, or at least, has always been. Even now, he can feel that Bones isn’t completely flaccid. He’s not fully hard either, but Jim can fix that. When Bones first got him a year ago, all they did was fuck. Bones had Jim in every position on every part of their quarters, in a hallway, all over sickbay, once in a turbolift. The idea of not being able to please Bones anymore is terrifying for more reason than one. 

He puts his hands on Bones’ stomach to steady himself. It’s smooth, tight beneath his fingers: the taut outlines of muscles. Jim sighs, “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

Bones says, “It’s none of your business.” And he pats Jim’s side like ushering a horse. “You wouldn’t understand anyway. Now get off me.” He’s calmed down, but now it’s just like he’s transitioned from lividness to sorrow, and that isn’t any better. 

Jim leans down to peck Bones’ other cheek before he rolls off. He thinks he doesn’t need to understand; he’d be there for Bones no matter what. Just because he’s drastically outranked doesn’t mean he can’t _be there_. He’s still got shoulders to cry on, even if Bones isn’t the crying type. Bones rolls over onto his side, facing away. 

Tomorrow, Jim’s going to get to the bottom of this. Assuming Bones is still acting strange. At least the console’s been reset. Jim knows his way around a computer. 

Jim tries to close his eyes and sleep, but he can hear Bones’ breath and smell Bones’ scent and he just can’t get over this. It’s the first day he hasn’t been fucked in a long, long time. 

He rolls onto his side and kisses the small of Bones’ back, even though Bones ignores him again. Jim shuffles onto his pillow, as close as possible without touching. 

He whispers in the dark, “You shouldn’t be this grumpy; you’re too loved to be sad alone.” Bones’ back seems to tense, but he doesn’t say anything or move. Jim knows he isn’t asleep, but he still pretends not to hear it. 

Frustrated, Jim shifts his legs, letting one foot touch Bones’, and that’s all. He doesn’t dare do more; he doesn’t want to be pulled away from. He stares at the dim outline of Bones’ broad shoulders and the curve of Bones’ spine, and he wonders if Bones really is contemplating ending their contract for a new servant. Or just getting another. He could. Despite what he says, he could handle it. He has a voracious sexual appetite, and he’s relentlessly strong, and he’s stunningly attractive. Just looking at his outline makes Jim squirm. The more Jim thinks about it, the more Jim thinks this just might be the cruelest punishment he’s ever had: being denied the attentions of a lover like Leonard McCoy. He thinks of Bones’ rough, calloused hands running down his sides, Bones’ coarse lips teasing his, Bones’ stubble scratching his chin, and it makes his cock twitch. Then he thinks of Bones’ _cock_ and that’s it. It’s a good thing Bones usually wears boxers to bed, or Jim would be sneaking under the covers just for a peek all the time. It’s so long, so thick, so veined and strong that it looks like one big muscle, like Bones could do pushups with it. The dark, mushroom head is always difficult to fit in Jim’s mouth, but it’s his favourite taste, so succulent. Bones always comes so much that Jim can gulp down mouthful after mouthful and still have some left to rub around his face and lick from the slit. And the way it feels when it’s inside him...

Jim bites his lip to stop his own moan, and he lets his own hand roam down his body. He knows Bones will probably hear him, but he doesn’t, can’t care. If he can’t have the real Bones fucking him, he’ll take a fantasy. He wants to finger himself but doesn’t want to bother getting lube, so he settles for wrapping his fingers around his cock and using the other set to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes and pretends his hand is Bones’. He strokes himself and squeezes the way he knows Bones would, nice and rough. The fact that his cock is pointing straight at Bones’ ass isn’t lost on him. If he bucked forward, he’d probably get precum on Bones’ boxers. He forces his hips to remain still. He wants Bones _so badly._

It takes longer than it usually does. He’s not used to touching himself anymore; he gets fucked so often that there’s rarely a need. Bones’ depression keeps popping up in his head, temporarily shattering the mood, and he keeps shoving it away, focusing on the back of Bones’ head and the thought of last week when Bones fucked him on his knees in the shuttlebay, just to cross off one more place. He thinks of the finger-shaped bruises that clung to his hips for days, and his hand strokes faster, faster. He’s never known a man like Bones in all his life. There’s no other. 

He cries out when he comes, his hand not enough to stifle it. He wails some strangled form of Bones’ name, and he’s too busy seeing white and writhing to know the sounds his own mouth is making. He tries to hold his hand over his cock to catch the mess, and he curls in, his forehead pressing into the back of Bones’ neck. He knows he’s sweaty and his hair probably tickles, and Bones just _ignores him_.

And that dampens the high of his orgasm so much that he nearly cries in aggravation. He buries his face in Bones’ skin, but still no reaction. He’s positive that Bones is awake. 

He lies there for a few minutes, panting and coming down, sweaty and sticky. Bones doesn’t push him away, and he soaks in that contact. He locks his foot around Bones’, rubbing Bones’ ankle for no particular reason. He doesn’t dare risk wrapping his arms around Bones’ middle like he wants to, pulling up close. 

He extricates himself five minutes later, and slipping out of bed and heading for the washroom. He needs to clean up. 

He sits on the toilet for another five minutes, for the first time, just not wanting to go back.

When he does go back, he still faces Bones. He closes his eyes, hoping he’ll wake up to a thick cock inside him and a sensuous, gravelly apology in his ear. 

Even though he knows he won’t get it.


	2. Addictions

This time, Jim wakes up with one arm draped over a warm body, and as soon as he inhales, he knows who’s it is. Grinning at the familiar feeling, he snuggles closer into Bones’ neck, Bones’ stubble scratching his temple. Their legs are tangled, and Bones’ boxers are soft against Jim’s skin. It’s several minutes before Jim remembers the mess of yesterday.

Then he pulls back, squinting up through the darkness, and he’s surprised to find Bones watching him. Bones is frowning, peering at him carefully.

Jim smiles hopefully and presses a kiss to Bones’ lips, but Bones rolls over and away with a grumble, clearly not better. He slips out of bed, Jim’s arm hovering and reaching after. He wants Bones to just _stay_ with him and cuddle until everything’s better, but he knows that isn’t going to happen.

Bones fishes out his uniform, and Jim yawns around mumbling, “I wish you’d tell me what it is.”

“Lights, one hundred percent.”

Jim hisses like a vampire, quickly scrunching his eyes closed at the sudden on slaughter of brightness. He reaches about for the blanket and pulls it over his head, curling up beneath it in all its glorious warmth. 

Bones’ body heat was still better, but Jim can take a hint.

Through the blanket, Bones grumbles at him, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m always like this at this time, but it’ll be over in a few days.” Jim’s mind scrambles to process that; maybe he’s undergoing a performance review or something. ...But Captain Spock seems to like Bones, and Bones is excellent at his job, so that shouldn’t cause worry. The other thing that comes to mind is the anniversary of when his wife dumped him, but that doesn’t make sense either; why should he feel bad about that? Surely his life’s better now with Jim instead.

Sighing, Jim forces himself to rejoin the outside world. He climbs out of the blankets and attempts to follow Bones to the bathroom, but Bones spins around and barks sharply, “No.”

Jim freezes, feeling vaguely like a dog that’s been smacked on the nose with a newspaper. 

This is the second day in a row he’ll have to shower alone, and that makes him sit bitterly with his back to the bathroom door, mood spiraling down.

And he’s supposed to be the chipper one.

* * *

Jim’s next plan of attack is cake. Everyone likes cake; it’s an automatic cheerer-upper, and the Synthesizer chips are not at all hard to come by. As Bones rarely celebrates anything, they have several saved up. Jim sorts through and settles on a Rigelian one—from the stories he’s heard, everyone’s happy on Rigel. He even Synthesizes a tube of icing afterwards and spreads it on and carves a dorky outline of a medical Starfleet badge for lack of anything better to do. Somehow he doesn’t think a heart or an ‘I love you, Leonard McCoy’ would go over so well. It’s a white, pretty thing, big enough to last them a day or two if they don’t eat it all at once. Jim has it in the middle of the table by the time Bones filters into the living room, ready for breakfast.

He looks absolutely _gorgeous_ with his hair wet and his skin shiningly damp and his crisp uniform clinging to his thick frame, and he’s forgone shaving again. He strolls to the table, spots the cake, and stops abruptly. Jim’s still busy drooling; he’s _so_ lucky. 

There’s spare icing left, and if Bones smartens up, he just might get a line of it licked off his cock. Jim would like that even more than cake. He bites his lip while he thinks of it, grinning broadly. Bones’ eyes are a little too wide.

He snaps suddenly, storming to the table and grabbing the cake. Shocked, Jim leans back while Bones whips it past him, tossing the entire thing, plate and all, into the garbage bin so hard that the metal cylinder topples to the floor and rolls in a semi-circle, spreading sticky crumbs.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Bones shouts, hovering just over Jim’s chair. Jim’s too taken aback to do anything more than shrink away, while Bones snarls and leans over the table. He looks about to punch a hole in the wall, and all Jim can do is wonder _who the fuck doesn’t like cake?_

After a bit of stepping back and forth and running a hand through his hair, Bones growls, “I’ll eat in the damn mess hall.” And he glares at Jim as if there is no worse fate. Jim just... stares.

Bones storms towards the door, and Jim jumps out of his chair, scrambling to grab Bones’ wrist just before the door can open. Jim _knows_ it’s not his place; this is his _master_ , but there’s only so much needless melancholy he can take. Bones turns to scowl at him, and Jim shouts, “I am sick and tired of you being a stick in the mud for no reason!”

Yanking his hand away, Bones yells right back, “Then it’s a good thing for me you’re nothing but a goddamn slave, and you don’t have any choice!”

Any other time, Jim might fall buck, stunned, hurt; he knows how little power he really has when they both know he won’t leave, but Bones doesn’t _treat_ him like that. But this problem’s been building, and Jim’s so worked up. Somehow, he just snaps, “I’m going to make you happy, damnit!” Bones’ eyes narrow.

Bones shoves him, pushes him two steps back, pins him against the wall behind him so sharply that Jim sees stars from the impact, wincing in pain. Bones holds him there, and suddenly Bones seems larger than life, so much _bigger_ and _stronger_ than Jim, fully clothed and overpowering. He leans in so close that Jim can see the tiny red veins in his eyes, and he snarls, “Don’t make me tie you up to keep you out of my way.”

An instant thrill runs up Jim’s spine. It shouldn’t, but it does. His mouth is dry. He licks his lips. 

He murmurs, “You wouldn’t.”

“That’s what you think.” Bones’ entire body flattens into Jim; he can feel it _everywhere._ He can feel the outline of Bones’ cock digging into him, and Jim’s wild for it, missing it so badly—two days is too long. Jim tries to tilt his head for a kiss, but Bones grabs a fistful of blond hair and holds it still; Jim’s completely at his mercy. Bones hisses, “Just because I’ve been playing nice doesn’t mean that can’t change. I put up with a lot of shit from you, but if you keep overstepping your boundaries, you _will_ find out what’s in that drawer of mine, and you won’t like it. Now, unless you want me to hogtie you, lock you up in a little cage meant for dogs, and only let you out to piss and drink from the toilet, I suggest you _learn your place._ ”

Evidently, Bones doesn’t have a good concept of what Jim will and won’t like. Though that same threat from earlier masters would’ve had him quitting out, the thought of being so helpless for Bones makes his cock twitch. And here he thought Bones was a big softie all this time. If Bones really does have a whole set of hardcore preferences he’s been holding back just to be nice, he’s even more of an angel than Jim thought. 

But Jim knows genuine anger when he sees it, and right now, he isn’t going to make that worse. He shuts his eyes and locks away the shiver of pleasure that comes with Bones’ words. Said in Bones’ voice, it’s even worse; Bones’ deep, rumbling vocals always have Jim aching for more. He nods as best he can in Bones’ grasp, and he wonders vaguely if Bones notices how hard he’s getting just from this physical contact and those words. 

If Bones does notice, he doesn’t do anything about it. He wrenches away suddenly, leaving Jim to stumble free, the air suddenly cold and lonely around him. “Don’t get any ideas, kid,” Bones grumbles, eyes scanning Jim’s face again. “That shit’s more than you can handle, but I don’t make idle threats. Now get back to the bed before I decide to tie you there.” He points at the bedroom like directing a misbehaving child. 

Bones’ bed usually isn’t a bad place to take time out. Still, Jim can’t help but look a little hurt as he slinks off. When he reaches the bedroom, he hears Bones’ exit, and he still wants to run back and tackle Bones to the ground, hump him into the floor. 

Jim sits on the bed instead, staring at the mysterious drawer and wondering how the hell he’s gone so long without hacking into it.

* * *

There are more important things to do, of course. The console’s easier to hack; basic yeoman services were part of his course training. He doesn’t dare send Bones any transmissions, but he does dare attempt to access the crew records. They’re security-locked, of course. Jim types in the code he’s stolen from a drunk Bones before, but it’s evidently changed, and he’s denied. He tries another he got from a stray security officer, but it’s too low a clearance. He knows that his third try will alert the bridge, so he opts for a different tactic. 

He sends a succinct message to the bridge, one addressed to Captain Spock on Bones’ authority; it will, after all, be sent from his computer. Jim’s aware that it’ll probably go to the communication console first, but Commander Uhura’s always been kind to him. Hopefully, she’d be that way with Bones’ signature, too.

He sends simply: _Message for the captain. –Leonard McCoy._

A few minutes pass, and he gets back: _Doctor McCoy is in sickbay. Can I help you, James?_

Jim smiles sheepishly, even though no one’s there to see it. It must be Uhura; no one else would call him by name. More likely, they’d slap him down and threaten to report him to his master for daring to use a console without permission, daring to forge his master’s name, and worse, daring to contact the bridge.

Lying to make it more excusable, Jim types back: _Sorry about that; I know civilians aren’t supposed to use the computers without permission. But I want to do something special for my master’s birthday, and I was just wondering if I could access his personnel file to see when it is? Thanks._

He frowns when he gets the response, though it’s what he half expected. _I’m afraid those are classified. However, I’m sure I can relay at least that bit of information._ And there’s a pause, probably while she’s searching, fully entitled to the files herself. Jim slumps back in the chair, sort of wanting to just go back to bed. So much for that idea. Maybe he should’ve just come out and said: Bones is being a dick—ideas? But after putting Uhura through that, he has to stick out his subterfuge.

A moment later, she sends: _Actually, it’s tomorrow. I’d inform the captain too, as they’re friends, but I suppose if Dr. McCoy hasn’t told us himself, he must not want anyone to know. I don’t remember doing anything last year. Silly thing sometimes, isn’t he?_

Staring in shock at the screen, Jim quickly types back: _You have no idea. Thanks again._ And he closes the link. 

He stares a bit more, then slips further down the chair and stares up at the blank ceiling. That’s it? That’s _all_?

Only Bones could be an asshole over his birthday. Birthdays are supposed to be fun. On Jim’s birthday, he got cake and a new outside-the-quarters outfit and fucked just the way he likes, just when he wanted. Bones even took him down to sickbay so they could spend half the shift together. Just thinking about it still makes Jim smile. 

And then he frowns, because he doesn’t have any of that to give Bones. Well, except the cake, but that already went terribly. And their sex is always to Bones’ whims. 

But at least he knows what he’s dealing with. 

He can think of one thing, at least. He straightens back up in his chair, sucking in a breath. Special circumstances should count here.

He opens the channel to Uhura again and types: _Could I please send a message to the captain, whenever is convenient for him? I know it’s unacceptable for me to ask, but it’s regarding my master’s birthday._

He can practically hear Uhura’s smile through the console. She returns kindly: _Send away, and I’ll patch it through when I can._

* * *

When he thinks about it, Jim could almost be bitter. All that trouble, all that worry, and it’s not even the big day yet. He tells himself that over and over to will himself not to smile when Bones gets back from his shift. Jim slips into shorts. Jim synthesizes a simple pasta dinner and leaves it on the table for Bones, while he himself sits in bed, having already eaten. They don’t talk.

When Bones finishes eating, he heads to his work desk and starts making notes on a PADD about the readings on his medical tricorder. Jim lets him work in peace. Jim has a PADD of his own that Bones loaded with things to read a long time ago, and though Jim isn’t a bigger reader, it’s the perfect escape for times like this. He sits on the couch in the living space and thoroughly ignores his master.

When Bones is finished, Jim can’t help but glance out the corner of his eye to watch Bones stretch. Bones yawns like a bear, fists up and shirt riding up. There’s a pang in Jim’s heart, but he doesn’t come over to offer to undress his master, doesn’t lay out new clothes, doesn’t do anything. He sits and he reads a half-fictional account of a grand Klingon-Romulan firefight. He’s not particularly attached to any of the characters, but he’s rooting for the Romulans simply because Klingons tend to leave a worse taste in his mouth. 

Bones putters around a bit more. He comes into the living room and half stares, half glares at Jim, and Jim stubbornly pretends to read, even though he can’t concentrate with that much man candy in front of him. He doesn’t wear shorts in Bones’ quarters, but he does today, and he knows Bones won’t miss that. They’re skin-tight and a little shiny, something like faux-leather, but they cover him nonetheless. There’s crisscross lacing over the crotch that he desperately wants Bones to come undo, but he knows it won’t happen. Bones eyes him up and down and hesitates as though about to say something. 

But then Bones just grunts and heads back to the bedroom. Maybe he’s going to bed early. All the lights stay on. Jim closes his story and flips through the database, wondering if it’s got any porn on it somewhere. He didn’t need it before, not with the embodiment of all his wet dreams at his disposal, but now he’s going stir crazy. 

He finds a vaguely erotic tale, complete fiction and not at all educational, of an engineer and military officer aboard the first Earth starship. He pictures one like an American, southern, like Bones, and one British just for the hell of it. He massages his crotch while he reads but ultimately doesn’t come. 

Eventually, he breaks. He heads into the bedroom. Bones eyes him suspiciously as he walks to the bed and unties the front of his shorts, shimming out of them to slip under the covers. The only way he can even look at Bones is with the knowledge that he’ll devastate all of this tomorrow.

* * *

He can’t fall asleep. He misses having Bones on top of him so, so badly, but he knows he has to be patient. He’s glad at least for the darkness; it makes it easier to not steal glances. He tries to keep his eyes shut. 

About an hour into the most awkward night they’ve ever had, Bones gets out of bed and heads to the washroom. As soon as the door shuts, Jim rolls over onto Bones’ side, pressing his head into the pillow and inhaling like some disgusting pervert. He can’t help it. He humps the sheets and thinks of Bones and keens, half wanting to just stubbornly lie here until Bones comes back and physically pushes him away, at least, finally, _touching_ him. 

Instead, he rolls back over the second the doors reopen. He knows he couldn’t have been fast enough for Bones not to see, but he lies still on his side anyway. Footsteps don’t come; Bones is probably watching him. Good. Jim has half a mind to push the blankets away and pose as erotically as he can.

When the footsteps do come, they’re not of a man walking but storming, and Jim can’t help glance over his shoulder. Bones reaches the drawers and punches something into the keyed lock for the forbidden drawer, wrenching it open after. He pulls out a couple things that Jim can’t quite make out in the darkness, but one looks like a rag and one has a hint of red.

The drawer slams shut, and Bones climbs up on bed, grabbing Jim’s shoulder and turning him over so fast that Jim yelps. He’s pinned to the mattress, and Bones _stares_ at him. The pure black between them does nothing to stifle the intensity. Jim’s breathing very, very hard. 

Bones takes the rag—no, a strip of cloth—and places it over Jim’s eyes; Jim obediently lies still and takes it. Bones lifts his head without a word and ties the blindfold tightly. Jim tries to suppress the chill that runs through him, one of anticipation. When past masters did this, Jim always pretended he was somewhere else, getting fucked by some gorgeous fantasy, an exotic alien or a skilled augment or something. Sometimes, when Bones shows signs of holding back, Jim wonders if he has any idea what Jim’s former masters were like. Or maybe he went too far with his own past pet. It doesn’t matter. Jim just thinks of _Bones_ , picturing that familiar, handsome face like a beacon of hope. 

A thumb on his jaw coaxes his mouth open—Jim opens _wide_. He wants Bones’ cock to slip between his lips, but he’s not surprised when it’s something rounder and less forgiving: a rubber ball? Something cold is at either side of the corners of his mouth, like metal, and straps press into his cheeks as Bones lifts his head again and snaps it shut behind him. 

Jim lifts his hands up, wrists together, expecting to be bound, but Bones shoves them back down with a growl. “I don’t need to do that, because you’re going to behave, aren’t you?” Jim doesn’t quite understand. If his mouth were free, he would tell Bones that he doesn’t at all mind being tied up. Or, he wouldn’t from Bones anyway. Maybe Bones does know his past. Maybe Bones knows how Jim struggled and cried and bitterly hated Marcus for locking him up and binding him all the time. That was different. That was so different. The mere fact that Bones doesn’t want to upset Jim is enough for Jim to offer everything he has. 

He can’t answer his master, so he just nods. He’ll be good, so good. He won’t struggle, won’t cry—although with the size of Bones’ cock, that’s always a possibility, but that wouldn’t count—he’ll show Bones that there’s no need to hold back between them. Jim wonders vaguely when Bones was born. If it was around Earth-midnight, this might count for an early present to both of them. 

Bones tells him, “Good,” and the voice is closer. Jim’s chest arches up, heart fluttering. Bones is getting closer. His warm breath ghosts over Jim’s neck, and Jim tilts to give more room, moaning around his gag. Bones’ fingers slide back through his hair, grabbing a chunk as Bones hisses in his ear, “Because you’re not going to try and sugar coat this or make me feel better. You’re going to take this for what it is; a bitter old man fucking his young, hot, helpless _possession._ The only thing you’re going to feel lucky about is that I’ve blinded you, and I’m going to shut up after this, so you can picture anyone you want. I _order_ you to pretend someone else is fucking you.”

Jim shivers, nods against Bones’ grip, and tries not to show his disappointment. He’s never had a problem being disobedient before, and here, he won’t either. He has no interest in anyone else. Not a single other person in this whole galaxy, and he’s been passed quite a bit around Starfleet, around starships; he’s seen a lot of people. And he hasn’t wanted any of them quite the way he’s wanted Leonard McCoy.

He resists the urge to yank his head free and smash his lips into Bones’, gag or not. Bones lets him go with a sharp kiss to his neck, more teeth than tongue, scraping long the line to his collarbone. Jim sucks in a breath, legs rising. He wants to wrap them both around Leonard’s waist, but they’re shoved down. A bit of shuffling, rustling, like fabric, and Jim prays it’s the boxers going. Then a hand is running up his side, rubbing back and forth along his skin, warming him up and making him shiver. Bones nips a wet trail to the other side of his face, climbing up his chin. The sensitive shell of his ear is bitten hard, and weight’s shifting atop him—he’s being straddled. Some more shifting, legs brushing legs—Bones pushes his up, and Jim holds them in the air, bent at the knee, wishing he could see if Bones is looking at him or not. He hopes so. He twitches his hole and bucks his hips, trying to knock his cock out of the way, trying to give a clear view. He didn’t think he’d be fucked today, so he didn’t prepare himself. Maybe Bones got lube out of the drawer too? Or maybe he’s going to fuck Jim raw...

So long as he _fucks_ Jim, Jim doesn’t care. Without lube, he might bleed to death, but what a way to go. He’s not exactly thinking straight. It’s so _hard_ to behave, to lie still in the mattress while Bones takes his sweet time. Or at least, it feels like that. Jim keeps his arms limp and useless at his sides, fingers lightly clawing at the sheets. One of his ankles is grabbed and pulled higher; Jim’s ass lifting off the bed. He bites harder into the gag—he wishes he could beg. 

He would beg _so hard_. Something small and blunt presses just below his balls—Leonard’s finger? Jim groans and tries to buck into it, but it just earns him a slap across his ass, one that makes him yelp. Then he’s pressed into again, that fingertip running down to his hole. Bones presses into it, and Jim sucks in a breath through his nose, trying to open himself wide enough to take it. Bones rubs at his walls. Jim wonders vaguely how much Bones can see—the blindfold blocks out everything; the lights could be on a hundred percent again, and Jim would have no idea. He was okay with it, first, but in a way, it is a form of torture, not being able to see Bones looming over him. Jim pictures Bones the way he was a few days ago, back when everything was lovely and age was just a number.

The finger pulls back, and there’s a small snapping sound, one Jim knows is familiar but can’t quite place. The finger comes back wet: lube. Jim keens in appreciation and bucks his ass up. When Bones lets go of his ankle, he keeps his legs spread and high anyway. He considers grabbing his own ankles—that would make it easier, but he’ll probably just get slapped down. Maybe he wants to be slapped down. He sort of wishes Bones would fit a collar and a leash to him like the other masters—ironic that the one time Jim _wants_ to look owned, he doesn’t. 

He’s pushed into, suddenly and without any warning, and he tosses his head aside, groaning. Bones’ finger worms its way inside, gentle but insistent, the same way he always is: rough but caring. The absolute best combination. It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t even feel strange. Just makes him want _more_. Jim’s walls twitch around it, desperate for something larger. Bones doesn’t even try to find Jim’s prostate, which is fine; he’s hard anyway. And he wants to stay that way as long as possible. 

The first finger pulls out, and a second joins it quickly, scissoring him apart. Bones shifts again, his thighs brushing up against Jim’s rear, but Jim still wishes he could see the position properly, see everything. He wonders vaguely who Bones thinks he would picture, who he’d rather fuck. The idea of him picturing Chekov, the candidate Bones suggested yesterday, is ludicrous. Chekov’s cute, yes, but his cock’s small, and Jim couldn’t even go back to a regular sized man after Bones. Bones has made him a size queen. He’s contracted a bunch of new kinks he didn’t even mean to. He can’t go to anyone else with a less sexy voice, though unfortunately, Bones still isn’t talking. He couldn’t have anyone but a physician; he needs those skilled fingers. He couldn’t even take a proper sober person—he’d miss the occasional lingering mint julip swirling around Bones’ mouth. Anyone but Bones would be a downgrade. How could he picture anyone else? He doesn’t want to think about Bones picturing someone instead of _him_.

He clenches his ass around what’s become three of Bones’ talented fingers, trying to remind Bones that he might be bratty, might be young, but he’s _tight_ and hot and eager for it. He’s smart and he’s brave, and he’s almost sure he could be anything Bones ever needed. If he weren’t gagged, he’d be promising Bones the world for a whole new year. 

Bones’ fingers slide out of him, leaving him stretched, dripping, and empty, and Jim whimpers around his gag. He wants Bones’ cock. Wants it _so bad_. If Bones pulled out a dildo or vibrator from the drawer instead, Jim’ll cry right through the blindfold. He needs the real thing. 

Something moist and spongy nudges at his puckered brim, and he mewls in delight. He would know that touch anywhere. He arcs off the bed in his want, his own cock hovering over his stomach, fully hard with anticipation alone. At the very least, he’s glad to know Bones couldn’t go so long without fucking him either. 

Bones pushes slowly inside, and Jim’s fingers fist tightly in the sheets, teeth digging into the gag. The stretch, the burn is exquisite. There’s still a little pain, so wide as it is, but the lube blocks most of it, and Jim wants that extra flare of excitement. He tentatively lets his feet feel forwards, blind in the air, and he hits something solid and isn’t pushed away. He slips his legs over what he’s sure are Bones’ broad shoulders, Bones’ hair tickling his knees when he draws them too close together. Bones’ hands reach for his hips, trying to push him down further and further on the massive cock attempting to fit inside his tight hole. 

He tries to let it in. Jim flexes his muscles and drinks in the sharp intake of breath from above, the cut-off groan of pleasure. He knows it feels good, and he wants it to feel better. It feels good for him too. He takes more and more, until he doesn’t think there’s any room left, and still he takes it. When he finally feels Bones’ heavy balls against his ass, coarse pubic hair tickling his hole, Jim’s in heaven. He tries to shift for the perfect angle, Bones shifting with him, though it’s already brushing his sweet spot—always does. It’s too big to miss. It’s _ecstasy._

Jim lies back with a muffled sigh, and if he could, he’d plead, _fuck me._ His legs are bent back. He can feel a weight and a heat drape over him, and he thinks Bones’ hands might be to either side of his head, supporting his body over Jim’s, just a few centimeters from touching. Jim lifts up enough to prove this theory, then sinks happily back down when he’s right. How could he picture anyone else? No one else has a body quite like _Bones._

Bones pulls his hips back, the sweet burn of sliding out making Jim shiver, and then Bones is _slamming_ back inside, nailing Jim right into the bed. Jim can’t gasp like his body wants to, and he forgets his orders—his arms jump to feel blindly for Bones’ head. They’re shoved back down by the wrists, a feral growl warning him, and he’s pounded into again hard enough to bruise. Bones holds him still and fucks him hard, fucks him over and over, working into a heavy, relentless rhythm, each thrust more merciless than the last. Sometimes Jim’s glad Bones is a doctor—surely he can clean up the mess if he accidentally fucks Jim apart. Does he even know his own strength? It’s what Jim imagines being fucked by a lion would be like. But so much _better_ than _everything_.

It was already heaven, but it only gets better when Bones starts to kiss him, surging down to press rough lips into the side of his face. Jim can’t respond, can’t do anything, but his wrists strain against Bones’ fierce hold. His body writhes beneath the attention, ass bouncing in the mattress right back onto Bones’ cock each time. Every time it hits that spot inside him, he melts into a little puddle, head short-circuiting. Bones mouths all over his jaw and his cheeks, haphazard and messy: an animal marking its property. Jim’s moaning so hard that he’s drooling around the gag, unable to stop it from slicking down the sides of his mouth and over his chin. He’s so lucky, so lucky. 

He’s going to come. Bones doesn’t touch him once, but it doesn’t matter. He belongs to that cock, that powerful, beautiful, monstrous cock. When Bones grinds into him between thrusts, Bones’ stomach against his shaft is enough stimulation to make precum slick out the tip. Jim’s thighs are trembling, body on overload. His head is useless, foggy with lust and adoration. He wants to warn Bones, he wants to let his master come first, but he just _can’t._ A part of him thinks his lack of control will just highlight their age difference, but he can’t help it, can’t do anything. He’s quivering and wracked with pleasure and Bones kisses the side of his mouth, and Jim goes _wild_.

He bucks off the bed suddenly, cock bursting, splattering a jet of cum that covers both their chests. His ass spasms around Bones’ cock, and he squeezes and squeezes, seeing white and stars and body nearly shaking. Bones keeps pounding into him, even while his cock fazes out and flags, still trapped between them. The gag is making it so difficult to breathe, and his chest is practically convulsing with the effort of keeping his lungs filled. 

He squeezes his ass anyway, until Bones finally finishes, exploding with a snarl to shame a wolf. Jim gasps around his mouthful as his ass if filled with spurt after spurt of hot cum. He still clenches then, wanting to hold on, and Bones pants above him, pressing their sweaty foreheads together. Jim can feel it, even if he can’t see it. He wants to look into Bones’ eyes. Bones looks fucking _amazing_ during orgasms. But then, he always looks amazing...

When he finishes, he stays there, bent over Jim with Jim bent in two, both breathing hard. It takes a few minutes for Bones to let go of Jim’s wrists in favour of undoing the gag, pulling it out and tossing it aside. Jim splutters in its absence, gasping at the air. Bones doesn’t pull out of his ass, and he’s starting to get sore, but he doesn’t use his newfound freedom to complain. He doesn’t have a chance. 

Bones covers his mouth, kissing him hard and sloppily, tongue over his, stubble scratching his chin. Jim takes a second to just be shocked, then kisses back just as fervently. He tentatively lifts his hands, wanting to hold on, but Bones shoves them down again, and the kiss stops. Jim whimpers. Come _on_. 

Something lands on Jim’s tongue, and he chokes for a second, realizing belatedly that it’s a gob of spit. Bones _spit in his mouth_. Jim freezes, shocked, and desperately wishes he weren’t blindfolded. Bones really is a nasty pervert under all that teddy bear sweetness. So he’s a dirty center wrapped in a tender shell done up with grumpiness on the outside...

Even without being able to see it, Jim’s almost sure Bones is waiting for his reaction. He closes his mouth and pointedly swallows. Then he opens his mouth and holds out his tongue, like he’s asking for more. 

Bones makes a snorting noise. Jim half expects to be made fun of, but he’s still not surprised when nothing happens. Bones climbs off of him, slipping out of his ass with a wet stinging sensation. Jim winces and feels like he’s _gaping_ , but that’s nothing new. He can feel the cum inside him dribbling out and slipping between his cheeks, and he clenches and tries to hold onto it but can only manage so much. Bones hits the bed beside him with a heavy sound. 

Jim’s left alone and still blindfolded, feeling suddenly cold. But if that was Bones’ way of turning Jim off, it wasn’t a very good job.

Jim rolls onto his side, mainly just so his sore ass isn’t touching anything, and he feels blindly for the blankets, pushing his legs back below them. He tucks himself in. 

He doesn’t take off the blindfold; Bones put it on him, so it’ll stay. 

At least this way, when Jim rolls over, he can pretend Bones is facing him too.

He only whispers, “ _Happy Birthday_ ,” when he’s sure his lover’s asleep.


	3. Link

Drinking twice as much as usual last night worked; Jim, for once, wakes up first.

It’s pitch black and takes him a second to realize he’s still blindfolded. When he takes it off himself, it’s still dark inside the bedroom, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust, and he has to stifle his yawn behind his hand. Bones is slumped along the other side of the bed, breathing deeply. Jim slips out of his own side as quietly as possible, padding over to the bathroom. 

He relieves himself, brushes his teeth, and drinks from the tap. When he thinks about it, brushing his teeth is sort of useless given what he’s going to do, but then he tells himself that Bones’ cock deserves better than morning breath. 

He wanders back into the bedroom, content to find Bones still asleep, and he slithers under the blankets. He goes slowly, carefully, unable to see but used to it. He finds Bone’s hip and holds it gently, pressing a chaste kiss to the rough skin. 

He kisses further down, further in, and he finds his way into a mat of coarse hair that he noses through to find his prize. It’s stifling hot under the blankets like this, just the way he likes it. 

Bones’ cock is half-hard already, probably serving a wet dream. Morning wood is always a treat for Jim, though if Bones had it the past two days, he kept it to himself. Not today. Whether Bones agrees or not, birthdays are a time to be pampered. Jim cups Bones’ shaft with one hand and presses his face into it, nuzzling and inhaling deeply. He gives it a long, broad lick. He’s going to give the full treatment.

Conscious that Bones could wake at any moment, Jim licks his way up the hefty length of his master’s cock, tonguing the foreskin and sliding his lips along it. At the top, he lifts the blankets up to hover over it, mouth open wide to pop the head into his mouth and suckle on it. He sucks until he gets one telltale bead of precum on his tongue, and then he goes back to licking down the other side. He nips at Bones’ heavy balls, unable to fit them in his mouth; he wants this magnificent cock hard as stone. He wraps his hand around the base and pumps while he places wet kisses all over the top, and then Bones makes a grunt above, and Jim can’t risk more foreplay. 

He opens his mouth as wide as he can and slides over the top, flattening his tongue along the underside and relaxing his gag reflex. He has to take it slowly, but he doesn’t stop, feeding himself more and more cock, until it’s impossible to take anymore, and even then he struggles, wanting _more_. His jaw’s already sore, and the corners of his eyes prickle, but that’s nothing new. He has to will himself not to touch his own cock; he’s hard against the sheets. 

He sucks as hard as he can, sliding up as he goes, then shoves back down and has to pause, has to catch up. The air coming through his nose isn’t quite enough to sustain him like this; he grows light-headed fast. Still, he goes on. He starts to bob up and down on Bones’ cock, sucking the whole time as though he’s never tasted anything more delicious. He spreads one hand over Bones’ taut stomach, holding him down just in case, and the other toys with Bones’ balls. _This_ is the way Jim wants to start his mornings. 

“What the hell—lights!”

The second the blankets are ripped off Jim’s head, he has to pause, the sudden burst of light assaulting his vision. He’s halfway down Bones’ cock, stretched far too wide to explain himself, and he has no intention of pulling off until his mouth is full of hot cum. He glances up at Bones, and there isn’t even enough room around the massive girth to attempt a smile. Instead, he tries to say with his eyes, _Happy Birthday._

Bones breaks into a livid glare, but Jim sucks with all his might, and the anger quickly gives way to a moan. Bones is up on his elbows, and his head lolls back. Jim works his way further down, humming happily. A hand slips into his hair—he needs to finish before he’s pulled off. 

Jim puts everything he has into it. He uses every trick in the book, sucking and humming and moving his tongue, all whilst bobbing up and down, root to tip, the way only a proper, trained pro like him could. He can feel Bones’ hips shaking beneath his fingers, feel Bones’ hand clawing at his skull, and he only lets it fuel him. He keeps his eyes locked on Bones’ face, even though it’s such a strain. He doesn’t care how sore he is, just keeps going. Even if he’s not about to say it yet, even if Bones doesn’t know Jim knows, he’s going to have a damn good morning whether he likes it or not.

Jim’s going to make him _love_ it. Jim hollows his cheeks, tugging at Bones’ balls, swallowing desperately. This is his favourite breakfast. Bones’ eyes are fierce, expression flittering between lust-filled and unreadable. Jim half hopes he’ll get punished. 

Then, without warning, the tip bursts. He’s halfway down, but Bones’ hand shoves him further, pushes him right to the base while he gags and struggles, not at all expecting or prepared for that. He fights to regain control, but his throat is nearly convulsing, and he can feel the sticky mess of cum slicking down it. He swallows as best he can, but the world becomes foggy around him; he can’t do this and breathe at the same time. His head thins. He might pass out. What a way to go, just how he would want to, fully sheathing his master’s perfect cock...

He’s jerked off suddenly, so hard that he cries out, the sound hoarse and painful. He’s sure a few blond strands have been ripped from his head, but that’s hardly his biggest concern. While he struggles to take in air, Bones’ cock is still going, splattering all over his face. Jim closes his eyes just in time, but he doesn’t close his mouth; he lets large gobs of it drape right over his tongue. He waits to swallow until the very end, still panting. 

Then he slumps down, warm cheek lying against Bones’ thigh, and he lets himself calm down. He licks tentatively at Bones cock after, swallowing what he has in his mouth and not wanting to let go. He nuzzles into Bones’ flagging shaft and glances past, wanting Bones to know that he’d happily do this forever. 

He doesn’t expect Bones to care that he’s hard too. Not today. As the orgasm dies off Bones’ features, he looks suspicious, then grumpy. 

He drops back into the pillows, reaching up to cover his face with his hands. Through them, he grunts, “What am I going to do with you?”

Jim, somehow, refrains from saying: _love me._

* * *

Jim follows Bones into the bathroom today, and Bones seems too spent from the blowjob to bother pushing him away. As Bones brushes his teeth, Jim shaves, using the old models that Bones still likes to employ—ever the technologically phobic. When Jim’s done, he starts on Bones, ecstatic when Bones doesn’t stop him. As Jim peels the stubble away, he croons, “It takes five years off.” When he washes Bones’ face clean, he looks in the mirror at both their reflections, sighing, “I’m lucky.”

Bones rolls his eyes and snorts, but Jim persists, “I am, having such a rugged, handsome master.” He presses a kiss into Bones’ now-smooth cheek. “And a doctor too. But you’re the youngest-looking one down there...” Which is, excluding the nurses, true. Bones almost cracks a smile, then quickly reverts to a scowl and heads for the shower, Jim trailing after. 

As Bones steps into the warm water, Jim half-jokes, half-purrs, “You know, I think Chekov is interested in you more than me. Should I be worried you’re going to replace me with someone younger who can keep up?” He lifts an eyebrow, trying to be coy, and he slips into the shower behind Bones, waiting out his turn for the spray. Sometimes Bones’ old school ways are a blessing; these are so much more fun than sonic showers.

Bones tells him, “Shut up,” and reaches for the soap. 

Normally, Jim would try to take it. He wants to wash Bones, but he doesn’t want to push it, so he takes his own bar and scrubs his own body down, waiting for his turn in the water. He watches every move Bones makes, and he doesn’t hide that fact, doesn’t try to keep the interest off his face. When the bar reaches Bones’ cock, Jim offers, “I could lick that area clean instead.” 

Bones rolls his eyes and grunts, “You’re insatiable.” But his cock stiffens in his own hands, and Jim doesn’t miss that. When it’s his turn for the water, he brushes Bones’ side on the way, wet skin slicked against wet skin. He can feel Bones’ presence behind him while he washes all his own suds down the drain. He tilts his head back, the warm water riveting down his face, the bathroom gathering thick clouds of steam all around them. It’s warm and pleasant, even when he steps out again. 

Bones pushes past him more roughly than before, grunting, “Move; I gotta piss.”

Something naughty sparks in Jim, and he stays where he is, half blocking the drain, body turned to face Bones. He leans forward, palms pressing into Bones’ chest, and he hisses near Bones’ ear, “You sure you don’t want to make me drink it?” It should be _disgusting_ , but the thought of gulping up anything that pours from Bones’ cock makes Jim shiver. It’s sterile anyway, and they’re in the shower; he’d clean right off. He runs one hand down Bones’ body, headed straight for Bones’ cock, sure he could be better than Bones’ own hand and some lousy drain.

The amount of time it takes Bones to pause shows he’s clearly thinking about it, but then he snaps, shoving Jim against the wall so suddenly that Jim loses balance, nearly toppling over. The side of Bones arm pins him against it, and Bones snarls, “You’re so much trouble.” Jim doesn’t argue. He revels in the contact, limited though it is, and stays where he’s held. Jim watches Bones grab his own cock and point it at the drain. The sound of his piss is drowned out by the gentle roar of the water, and Jim _stares_ like it’s some private show.

He doesn’t even mean to be so kinky, but his imagination’s been overactive in the past few days, and anything with _Bones_ sounds fun. He keeps hoping Bones will let him go and shove him down and make him kneel under the golden stream. But Bones’ grip holds firm, even through the last few drops being shaken and washed off.

Only then does Bones relinquish his hold, and Jim, impossibly hard, tells Bones honestly, “Everything you do turns me on.”

Bones looks back at him like he’s insane, but he just pecks Bones’ cheek. He wants more than just another year of this; he wants as long as he can possibly have.

* * *

The distraction, if it works, is courtesy of the captain. Bones is supposed to be stopped in the turbolift by Mr. Scott, which won’t be much of a shock to Bones, who’s more than inclined to believe turbolifts are prone to breakage. He might even get a small spark of satisfaction out of it. Either way, it gives Jim the chance to sneak out in his shorts and reach sickbay before his master.

All of Bones’ attendants are, fortunately, very nice. His grumpier bedside manner apparently isn’t part of the lessons, because Nurse Chapel greets him with a warm smile as soon as he reaches the back. She lets him into Bones’ private office, and she tells him, “Wait here.”

Jim says, “Okay,” hops up on the examination table, and adds, “Thanks.”

She comes back a few minutes later with a strange sort of medical gown that Jim hasn’t seen before. “It’s made of paper,” she tells him. “Very outdated, as it’s rather flimsy and inappropriate, but Dr. McCoy will like it.” So Jim takes it and waits for her to leave. 

She doesn’t, which turns out to be a good thing, because its simple design makes it oddly difficult to put on. He climbs out of his shorts first, not particularly shy about being naked in front of her, and then he holds up the sheet of mint-coloured paper. Nurse Chapel kindly helps, draping it over his head and pulling his arms through the holes cut out in the sides. The waist is incredibly short, and she helps tie it in the back to keep it on. Then she ushers him onto the table, announcing, “I have another idea.”

“The stirrups?” Jim suggests, because he had the same one. She nods brightly, and he can tell she’s enjoying this a little too much, but he doesn’t mind. Better to have her and make it look right than not at all. 

She pats the bottom of the table and tells him, “Come closer, right to the end.” He listens, doing his best to help, and she pulls his ankles out, slipping them into the metal stirrups of an instrument she pulls from beneath the table. It keeps his legs spread and open, giving a good view, and she notes curiously, “Did you prepare yourself?”

“Of course,” Jim practically snorts. With the size of Bones’ cock, he’d really need sickbay if he didn’t. She looks down between his legs, appearing thoughtful.

Then she suggests, “How about an internal spreading bar? He can open it wider if he needs to, but having something inside you might look nice.” Jim lifts an eyebrow, and she elaborates, “It won’t hurt; I use it on my pet all the time.” And that makes him colour; he didn’t know she had one. He wonders vaguely how attractive hers is in comparison to him, because she seems to be enjoying the view almost too much, but then, it might just be the idea that _Bones_ is going to fuck him drawing her attention. He can’t imagine anyone not being interested in Bones, no matter what personal servant they had of their own. He nods.

Grinning wider, Nurse Chapel flitters over to a drawer, pulling out a long metal tube that Jim knows from experience can split apart, opening the user wider and wider. He looks up at the plain white ceiling while she wanders back, and the cold, blunt tip of it presses between his cheeks, probing at his hole. Jim sucks in a breath, stealing himself. 

He mumbles, “Ready,” and she shoves it in. It’s small, but unforgiving, and he grunts while it slides inside him, deeper and deeper, at least as long as Bones’ cock, though not nearly as thick. He can tell that a good chunk of it is still sticking out of him, but it’s probably mostly controls. He struggles to regain control of his breathing, acting cool as Nurse Chapel straightens out.

She pats his stomach like a puppy and tells him, “There. You’re a doctor’s dream.”

He says, “Thank you,” and means it. So long as he’s _his_ doctor’s dream, it’s perfect. As she nods and heads for the door, he calls after her, lifting up on his elbows, “Oh, and just in case, would you mind not telling Bones his shift’s cancelled today until after he’s come in here?”

“I’ll make sure he comes.” When she leaves, the door slides shut behind her, and Jim falls back to the bed, breathing out. 

It’s a little cold in the room, particularly with his ass exposed and his ankles and anus touching metal, but he’s used to being naked. He doesn’t know how long the distraction will last, but he hopes it’s over soon. And he hopes this works. It’s not a fancy cake or even a very good present, but Jim doesn’t have anything else to give, so he hopes this works. He’s hoping a proper, post-coital talk leads to more, anyway. 

The best present, he thinks, would be the contents of that drawer, but he can’t get into it without Bones’ help. Maybe this’ll draw Bones’ attention long enough to get him to see reason, or better yet, maybe it’ll lead to sex. Everybody loves a little role play, right?

Jim smiles goofily to himself and waits, entertaining dirty fantasies that all star his master to pass the time. 

Maybe a dozen minutes later, Bones storms in, grumbling loudly to himself about ‘damn machines.’ He gets all the way to his desk in the corner before he notices Jim, whirling around with wide eyes. Jim bites his lip, batting his eyes. 

He mumbles silkily, play-acting and clearly turned on, “Doctor, I think I’m sick; I feel all hot and dizzy, and so, so empty... could you fix me?” When Bones doesn’t answer right away, just _stares_ , Jim adds in a half-moan, “Doctor, _please_ , put something big inside me...” He’d spread his legs wider, but he’s strapped in place. Instead, he arches his chest up, tongue slowly, blatantly licking around his lips. Bones keeps staring. 

Then he explodes, all at once and tossing the PADD in his hands to the floor, “What the hell has gotten into you?!”

Jim frowns, falling back down instantly. The heady smile slips off his face, eyebrows knitting together. Why can’t Bones take a surprise well, just once? He mumbles weakly, feeling terrible, “You don’t like it?”

Bones snorts. He looks aside, glaring a hole into the wall, and looks back at Jim, shaking his head like he just doesn’t know what to do. He steps over to the table, and Jim reaches out to touch him, but he slaps that arm away. “Just tell me why you’ve been acting like a mindless fuck-toy that can’t take no for an answer.” As if Jim’s supposed to be anything else. 

Jim _is_ smart. He does have other things to do, but his main place in life is at Bones’ side, so really, taking that away makes it Bones’ fault that his whole life’s been thrown out of balance. But he doesn’t want to take the blame. With a sigh, he finally, sheepishly admits, “I... I know it’s your birthday today.”

For a moment, Bones just looks shocked. Then sort of horrified. Jim bites his lip. 

He mumbles, “I just... I just wanted you to have a good one. I don’t know why you’re so upset and dropping hints that you’re old—I don’t think you’re too old for me at all, and I adore you. I thought...” He fidgets, fingers trailing the high hem of the paper gown. “I don’t know, I thought you’d like it... my body’s all I have to give you, so...” Downcast, he adds, “I mean, I... I know you own that anyway, but...”

“You hacked my records.” He looks somewhere between numb and furious.

To be fair, Jim didn’t really. He did try, though, He shrugs his shoulders lamely and tries, “Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten an intelligent servant?” Bones shakes his head. 

Suddenly, he spins towards the counter, stomping off. He wrenches the top drawer open, fishing around, and when he turns back to Jim, Jim pales. There’s a long, thick object in his hands, something that looks disturbingly like a dildo but probably has some sort of medical function. Jim would jerk away, but he can’t; his feet are still in the stirrups. He sits up instantly, reaching over to try and fiddle with them, but Bones pushes him back down. 

Bones snarls, “Stay.” Jim, whimpering faintly, obeys his master’s orders. 

The only saving grace in all this is that when Bones stands between Jim’s spread legs, there’s a definite glint of lust on his face. Still, he parts the spreading bar—Jim yelps as it splits, lifting and stretching him open, his lubed entrance still not quite prepared for the speed with which Bones parts his walls. He gasps as it goes wider and wider, beyond what he thinks should be normal, and he screams when Bones twists it, keeping him wide in all directions. Then the metal’s suddenly ripped away, and something just as hard and cold is shoving into him. Bones smacks it, hammering it in, and Jim groans and cries out and writhes as it fills him. When he said he didn’t want to be empty, this isn’t what he meant. 

When it’s in as far as it can go, or at least, it feels like any more will split Jim open, Bones pulls back and growls, “Consider yourself cured.” He storms from the office before Jim can say anything else, before Jim can do more than squirm and whine. 

Jim’s left alone, somewhere on the brink of tears.

* * *

The walk back up to their quarters is long and miserable. He managed to get himself out of the stirrups, but he didn’t remove the dildo, wouldn’t without Bones’ permission, not today, and it makes him cringe every time he moves. He’s grateful for the work the turbolift does, but even that jostles it inside him. He doesn’t think Bones would be anywhere else, not with the day off. Although anyone else would be in the messhall celebrating. 

By the time Jim reaches their quarters, he’s sore and soft and still not sure what he’s going to say. He half expects the door to be locked and for him to have to sound the buzzer. Or worse yet, sleep in the hall.

It’s not. It swishes open for him, just like it always does, and he totters through it, wishing he could just slink through a crack in the floor and die. 

Bones is over on the couch, hunched over nothing, looking cross at the air itself. Jim looks at him, mouth open, wordless. Jim knows that he should walk past. He should strip himself down, keep the toy inside him, slip into bed, or maybe sleep beside it, and hope his master feels benevolent enough tomorrow to pull it out of him. He hesitates where he is. He doesn’t know what to do. 

Something in Bones’ expression softens, and Jim, stealing himself and _refusing_ to lose, sucks in a breath. He walks over as straight-backed as he can, stops in front of the couch, looks down and... _trembles_. He’s usually stronger than this. But Bones...

All that extra time getting here, the uncomfortable factor making it take twice as long, and he didn’t think of a thing to say. Nothing that’ll work, anyway. He looks down at his feet. 

He throws his arms around Bones’ neck, toppling into Bones’ lap, and Bones catches him just in time, grabbing him and pulling him down. His bare thighs part around Bones, body flattening into him, paper on fabric. Jim falls apart in Bones’ embrace; Bones holds him back. Really _holds_ him, strong arms all around him. The way it should be. Or maybe just not letting him fall.

He buries his face in the side of Bones’ head, and he breathes into Bones’ hair, “I love you. I love you _so_ much. I just... I just want you to have a good birthday...” He almost hiccups as he trails off, voice almost slipping into tears. A part of him’s furious at Bones for doing this to him, but the rest of him’s mad at himself for making it worse. He mumbles stupidly, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I feel bad; I didn’t want to bother you; I just wanted to give you something, but I don’t have anything you want, and I... I...” he trails off uselessly, squeezing Bones tighter. Then he winces; flexing moves the object inside him. He refuses to pull back. He doesn’t want to see if Bones is still mad. He just wants to hold on. 

Bones reaches up to pet his hair. It’s soothing, reassuring, and Jim keens like a puppy. After a moment of quiet, Bones grumbles, “No, I... I’m sorry. You _do_ have something I want. I do want you, I just...” he pauses, sighing. Jim does finally lean away, just so he can look in Bones’ eyes, but he keeps his hands on Bone’s shoulders, glad when Bones’ arms stay around him, just looser. “I’m just not a very nice person on my birthdays, okay?”

Jim snorts; he noticed. It makes Bones smile wryly, and Jim, delighted at it, bends forward to kiss it lightly. Bones doesn’t kiss him back but doesn’t push him away either. After everything, Jim will take it. When he leans away, he winces again, head ducking with the movement. 

Bones, back to frowning, asks, “What is it?” Then he frowns harder, asking, “Jim, you didn’t leave that thing in, did you?”

Jim whines, “Of course I did; my master put it in me.”

Evidently not finding that funny, Bones scowls. “I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.” And he slaps Jim’s ass—Jim yelps but takes the hint, lifting up on his knees. Bones reaches skillfully behind him, finding the device without even looking. He slowly starts to pull it out, while Jim gasps, fists tightening in Bones’ uniform. He wants it out, he does, but as soon as it pulls free, Jim feels empty and unnaturally wide, and he whimpers uselessly. 

Flexing his gaping hole, Jim mumbles sourly, “I really wish you’d fucked me instead.”

Bones sighs again. He lets the object fall to the floor, rolling aside, slick with lube. He leans back in the couch and grunts, “Look, you don’t understand. You’re young.”

“And so are you,” Jim insists, frowning. “Which is part of why I don’t understand your problem.”

Bones’ eyebrows knit together. He looks at Jim like he’s gone insane, then asks slowly, “Just how old do you think I am...?” 

Jim thinks for a moment, studying Bones’ face. A part of him is tempted to say twenty or something ridiculous, just to make Bones feel better, but that might actually make it worse. He looks at the creases in Bone’s eyes, the cut of his chin, the roots of his hair, all brown. He decides finally, “Twenty-nine...?” Which might be a year or two early but can’t be _that_ off. Bones stares at him, really _stares_ , not the one scrutinizing Jim. But Jim holds firm; he’s serious. 

And Bones... Bones seems to brighten. Incrementally, just small, a tiny twitch of the lips in the corners. Jim rests his forehead against Bones’ and adds quietly, “I don’t think you could be any more than thirty, but you know, you could be sixty, and I wouldn’t care.” He glances down carefully, murmuring, “You’ve got a gorgeous cock and amazing stamina. I really don’t think an ‘old man’ like you seem to think you are could fuck me half as hard or as long as you do.” To illustrate, he rolls his hips once, grinding into Bones’ crotch. He wants it very clear that he wants nothing more than to ride that perfect cock all night long, if he can. He tilts his head and kisses Bones properly, and Bones finally, finally kisses him back. 

Jim melts into a puddle of happiness. All the tension from earlier slips out of him, all the soreness in his skin dipping into a pleasant tingling. He kiss Bones over and over, pressing harder together and grinding them close, until Bones pushes away and leans away from his hungry mouth. 

Bones growls in warning, with a smirk on his lips and a dangerous spark in his eye, “I’m serious, kid. I’m not a nice man on my birthday.”

“Good,” Jim purrs, leaning as forward as he can in Bones’ strong grip. “Because I know you’ve been holding back on me, and we really should’ve talked about it earlier. Because I want you to go as wild as you can.” He raises his eyebrows in a challenge, meaning it. 

Bones asks, completely serious, “Are you sure you mean that?”

“Completely.” He kisses Bones again, earning a bit of tongue before he’s pushed away. 

He’s pushed right off Bones’ lap, and he stumbles to his feet, fully prepared to rip off the paper gown and make love with his man. Instead, Bones lounges back, looking like some beautiful Greek god, and he says, “Then pick a safe word, go get into a spare uniform, and wait for me to come unwrap my present.”

Jim almost says he doesn’t need a safe word, but then he sees the nervous look hidden in Bones’ eyes, and he knows not to mess with this tenuous safe zone. He nods, all smiles, and practically skips to the bedroom.

* * *

Bones takes nearly half an hour to get to him—probably had a snack or did some work or, most likely, self-pep-talked into being okay. Because when Bones stands in the doorway, there is no doubt on his rugged features, just sheer, unadulterated _power._

Jim shivers and crosses his legs, just so he can squeeze and put pressure on his already-interested cock. He’s in one of Bone’s spare uniforms, the blue tunic too loose on him, the layered clothing feeling strange and hot on his skin. They haven’t role-played before, and Jim wonders vaguely how that’s even possible. Maybe there’re kinky clothes in that drawer. It’s a wide space; there’s got to be more in it than they’ll get to tonight. And they better not have to wait until next year to open it again. 

Jim doesn’t quite know how Bones wants to play this, so he waits for Bones to stroll over to him, arms crossed and posture tight. Jim’s sitting on the end of the bed, shivering in anticipation. Bones asks him simply, “Your word?”

“Tarsus,” Jim announces—the name of a planet he read about somewhere that didn’t sound in the least bit sexy. Bones nods: understood.

Bones takes one step closer and decides aloud in a smooth, Southern drawl, “You’ve been a very, very naughty boy, Ensign Kirk.” Jim bites his lip and looks aside, as though this news is intimidating. Beneath his lashes, he catches another step closer, less than an arm’s length away. “Lusting after a doctor so much older and higher-rank than you... now, tell me exactly why I shouldn’t report you to the captain.” When Jim looks up, Bones has one eyebrow raised. 

Slipping easily into the role, Jim mumbles hopefully, “I’m sorry, Sir... maybe... maybe we could come to some... arrangement?” He looks pointedly down at Bones’ tented crotch, then forces a blush and looks aside. Realistically, he’s even lower than an ensign. But he’s not the cowering type; his submission is a gift and a play. 

Bones’ calloused fingers slip beneath his chin, gently drawing his head up. He opens his blue eyes wide, full of admiration and _desire_ , and he parts his lips a few millimeters. Bones’ thumb reaches up to trace over the bottom one, pulling it down, opening his mouth wider. Jim tilts back to show his master his mouth, imaging Bones’ cock in it probably more than Bones is. He’s never wanted to taste anything more. 

Bones’ hand slides up the curve of his face, cupping his cheek, thumbing his ear, slipping back into his hair. Bones’ fingers tighten together, gripping him hard. 

Then Bones jerks Jim suddenly up, and Jim shrieks in pain, stumbling to his feet. He’s barely made it there before he’s tossed aside, thrown uselessly to the floor. He gasps, one arm bent beneath him, the other trying to push himself up, and Bones puts one foot against the small of his back, boot still on, pushing him down. Jim’s chest hits the floor, and he hisses, glancing over his shoulder. Their eyes connect for a split second, and Jim knows, just knows, that Bones is waiting for that safe word. 

Jim has no intention of using it. The moment passes as quick as it came, and Bones leans over him, smirking up a storm. “Still want that deal, Ensign?”

Jim makes a sharp keening sound and nods against the floor, his palms flat down. He doesn’t have shoes himself, but he does have the socks, so much more covered than he’s used to, and even with all of that, he still feels so _owned_. Just the way he wants to be. It’s like Bones is branding that ownership into him with a boot print between his shoulder blades. Bones presses harder, crushing him, so tight that Jim grits his teeth and struggles for air. Bones taunts above him, “So I suppose, as part of your arrangement, you won’t be telling the captain about this?”

Jim can feel the boot trailing lower, scrunching up fabric. It lifts and sets down again on his ass, and Jim groans as the pressure grinds his cock into the hard floor. He nods and mutters breathlessly, “Wouldn’t tell on you, never...” Bones’ foot slips away, and Bones leans down over him. 

Bones reaches under him, over his crotch; Jim lifts his ass up to help. His belt’s unclipped and pulled abruptly from his pants. A second later, it whips through the air, slapping his ass, and Jim yelps at the shock and the sting. He expects to be spanked again, maybe over and over, but instead, he’s grabbed by the neck and yanked back to his feet. Jim can barely stay on them, and the next thing he knows, he’s slammed into the wall so hard that a bottle topples off the dresser. He doesn’t hear it break, but he can’t look; Bones is pinning him to the wall. Bones shoves a hand right into the front of his pants, massaging his cock through his boxers, and he groans wildly while Bones hisses, “Yeah, you like this arrangement, don’t you? You never wanted a relationship at all; you just wanted me to _fuck_ you, so hard you’d have an excuse to be in sickbay for days.” Jim moans: oh, yes, _that_ , but can’t he have a relationship too? Bones squeezes his cock and his head tosses back. 

Then Bones’ hand is gone, and Jim whimpers at the loss, but he’s pulled away from before he can do more. He’s grabbed by the arm and shoved at the bed—his knees bang into it and he falls over it, arms shooting out to catch him. Behind him, Bones growls, “Pretty fuck-toys like you don’t deserve their uniforms. You have no business being on this ship; you should be back on Orion working for some pimp to please as many men as you can.” The hurt in Jim’s eyes is real; he only wants one man. But it’s part of the game, and he leaves it there. Bones grabs the collar of his shirt, yanking it back, choking Jim in an instant. “I’d tell you to strip, because I bet that’s all you’re good for, but I don’t want you to romanticize this as giving me some sort of fancy strip show. I want you to know that I’m the one tearing the clothes from your body because I wanted to.” And just like that, he’s jerking at Jim’s tunic. Jim’s bent backwards, knees crying in protest, as the blue fabric rolls over his head. The black undershirt is grabbed next, ripped away just as violently, leaving Jim shirtless and reeling. He tries to step off the bed, and he’s scooped up by the waist. 

He’s pulled back to the wall, spun and slammed against it, chest and hands trying to steady himself. Bones moves fast. Somehow, Jim wasn’t quite expecting it—Bones’ hands are in the hem of his waistband, jerking down, and Jim winces as the air hits his ass. He should be used to it, but in this moment, he’s not. His pants are left to pool at his feet, and Bones grabs both cheeks of his ass through his underwear, squeezing hard. Jim gasps, head lolling back onto Bones’ broad shoulder. They might’ve been ill-fitting and uncomfortable, but the clothes were worth it just to have Bones take them off. He really should have a Starfleet uniform, just for this, maybe a pretty little gold thing like the one Chekov sometimes gets to wear. Then Bones bites him deep enough to draw blood, and Jim’s yanked right out of his fantasy. 

He’s told, “You’re a dirty cocksucker, Kirk. You’re lucky a quality man like me even spares you a second glance.” Jim nods: so lucky. Another slap rings against his ass, and he clenches his teeth again. Another blow, then another, this time with Bones’ hand, and though he’s still in an old pair of Bones’ boxers, he’s sure his ass is glowing red beneath them. As he’s spanked mercilessly, Bones tells him, “Step out of your clothes, whore,” and Jim obeys as quickly as he can between blows. He uses his feet to pull his socks off one at a time, losing balance every time he’s smacked while on one foot. Then his boxers are being dropped, and he kicks them aside too, and he’s completely naked, just the way he should be under Bones’ hands. 

He’s pulled away from the wall by his hair, and Bones pushes his head down, forcing him to walk bent over. He’s dragged to the bed and shoved onto it; Jim climbs up on all fours, already out of breath. He hangs his head while he tries to catch it, and he hears the telltale sound of a drawer opening. He resists the overwhelming urge to look. 

His wrists are grabbed and pulled out in front of him, and he holds them still while handcuffs clip around them, weaved between a spoke in the headboard, effectively locking him to it. The handcuffs are old-fashioned, thin and metal, but they hold firm when Jim tugs experimentally. Bones grabs his hair and jerks him back, catching his eyes to tell him smoothly, “I’d muzzle you too, but I just did that to my last slave, so I think I’ll let you off easy.” Jim doesn’t say anything, but in the back of his head, he’s wondering just what Bones considers ‘easy.’ Bones drifts out of view behind him, and Jim wants more commands, more degradation, anything that’ll give him more of that liquid-sex voice. 

A minute later, he gets what he wants, while the bed weighs down behind him and material rustles. Bones grabs his hips, positioning him properly, like putting a dog in the right pose for a show. Then he drapes over Jim’s body and purrs not far from Jim’s ear, “Well, if I’m going to grant you the use of your mouth, you might as well use it to beg your senior officer for mercy.”

Jim doesn’t want mercy. He groans instead, “Please, Sir, please...”

Another fist in his hair—so much hair pulling. It gets Jim so, so hard. Bones’ teeth scrape along the shell of his ear, moist and almost-sharp, tantalizing and threatening all at once. Bones bites the bottom, tugs it in his teeth, and lets go to hiss, “Please, what, Ensign Kirk?” One of Bones’ hands twists under Jim’s body, sliding over his nipples and stopping to palm one, rubbing soothing circles. Jim whimpers and shifts in his bonds, while Bones’ other hand traces down his sides, stroking his hip. Jim tries to press his ass back, but Bones’ crotch is too far away to reach. 

Jim whines with faked hesitation, “Your... your cock, Sir... please, please, I know I have no right to it, but I... I heard it’s just so big! I really, really, really want it inside me.” There’s nothing fake in the words themselves; thinking about what’s going to happen makes Jim dizzy with lust. The only sad thing about the handcuffs is that he can’t turn around suddenly and throw himself on Bones’ crotch, tasting and sucking and kissing the mammoth cock like he desperately wants to. He thinks, from the way Bones’ hands feel, that he’s shirtless, but Jim doesn’t know about the rest. Jim could duck his head and look between his legs, but then he wouldn’t have Bones’ mouth right next to his ear. Bones bites the tip again, this time hard, and Jim grits his teeth and whimpers.

Bones tells him, “More.”

And Jim spills, practically moaning every word, “Oh, please, Sir, I want your cock so badly! I want it inside me, filling me up; I want it to fuck me, and I want you to come inside my body. I’ve never wanted anyone so badly...” It’s true, all true. He bucks his ass back again, still finds nothing, and gasps as Bones tugs at his nipple.

Bones chuckles, complete ignoring Jim’s pleas, “Perhaps I should pinch these in little clamps, hang a chain from them and lead you around by it, hm? Or drape chains from your nipples to your collar, keeping them perky and taut...”

Bones’ other hand joins the first, both teasing his nipples, and Jim squirms in delight and little prickles of pleasant pain, groaning, “My... my collar?”

“Yesss,” Bones hisses. “I have all sorts in that drawer of mine. You didn’t think I’d let you go without branding you as my own personal property, did you, Kirk? Now, should I put you in one for dogs, or perhaps a pretty cat one, or maybe you just deserve raw chains...” Jim croons, arching back and thinking anything, anything. Just so long as it marks him as _property of Leonard McCoy._ Snorting at his antics, Bones squeezes extra tight and snarls, “Or maybe a choke collar would be better for you—force you to behave and remind you that every breath you get is a gift from your master...” Jim’s hips thrust uselessly in the air: _yes._

His nipples are let go of, and the next thing he knows, something thick and rough and leathery is wrapping around his neck. It takes Jim a second to realize that it’s his own discarded belt, and Bones loops the end through the buckle, pulling it tight a second later. Jim chokes and instinctively tries to grab it, but his hands only strain against the handcuffs, unable to save him. 

His ass is slapped again, and he doesn’t quite have the air to yelp, while Bones drawls coolly, “Look at that, a collar and leash all in one. Lucky me.” He jerks on it, forcing Jim to lean back as much as he can, scrambling to fill his lungs. It’s held taut while something damp and spongy nudges between Jim’s cheeks. Jim would know that feeling anywhere, but at the moment, he’s too light-headed to connect any dots. It starts to breach him, press against his entrance, still wet and stretched from earlier, and he thinks he might pass out before he’s full. 

Then he’s released, and he slumps down, gasping, shoulders wracking with near-sobs as he tries to breathe. Bones’ cock shoves into him, suddenly and all at once, so full and thick that Jim _shrieks_ , digging his forehead down into the pillows. His fingers are digging sharp grooves into his palms, his thighs tensing even though he knows he shouldn’t, his stomach seeming to bulge with the imprint of Bones’ cock. Bones grinds into him, pubic hair and balls pressed into his ass, slaps the side and growls, “You like that, bitch?” Jim struggles to nod, and Bones grinds again, harder, the movement tossing his whole body around and making him wince. “Just what you wanted, huh? Your precious doctor’s fat cock up your tiny asshole...”

Somehow, Jim manages to mutter hoarsely, “Th... thank you...” He’s slapped again and makes another short noise. He knew Bones had a secret hardcore streak, but... _fuck_. His own cock is a mess, swinging between his legs, flagging with each bout of pain and hardening right back with every little sexy nuance. Bones is tearing him apart, but pressing right into his prostate, dangling him right over the precipice of both pleasure and pain. Bones just keeps on rocking into him and toying with his ass, until he shakily glances over his shoulder. He meets with Bones’ fiery eyes and doesn’t show any signs of needing that safe word. 

That seems to be what Bones was waiting for. 

Jim’s pulled half out of in an instant, slammed back into the next, and he’s thrown forward with it, skull just barely missing the headboard. Bones does it again, and Jim teeters, crying out when he’s stabbed into, the pleasure at the end drowning out the burn. It’s so, _so_ big, fills him so much more than the dildo did, impales him more than he can take. But he wouldn’t change it. His walls flex wildly, squeezing as they try to accommodate, the lube from earlier just not enough, not for a beast of a man like Leonard McCoy. It’s like he can feel every little centimeter, every smooth vein pressing indents into his body; his body’s trying to mold itself to fit its master. Jim doesn’t need to clench on purpose. It’s all he can do to stay sane while he’s fucked _so good_ so fast.

Another several thrusts and Jim can’t take it; he’s thrown to his elbows, arms buckling. His fingers twist in the chain of the handcuffs, holding on for dear life—he needs the support. He’s fucked _hard_ , back and forth, and he’s only been on his elbows for a couple of thrusts before the belt’s grabbed again, the collar constricting. It pulls Jim back up instantly, and he’s scrambling to hold on, keep himself up, and Bones uses it to yank him so far that his back hits Bones’ smooth, bare chest. He’d croon if he weren’t busy choking, busy going insane from the pressure closing in on his head. Bones only lets go when Jim’s right on the brink of passing out, black prickling at the edges of his vision. Bones never once stops fucking him. Bones bites the back of his neck and his shoulder and runs rough hands all over his body, never touching his cock. He’s slammed into so hard that his dick hits his stomach every time, leaving little smears of precum. Jim doesn’t know how he’s not drooling, not slumping into unconsciousness, able to withstand such force. It’s the hardest he’s ever been fucked in his life by _far_.

Even when the makeshift collar goes slack, Jim’s held against Bones’ body, only allowed to fall when Bones shoves him down, back to all fours, draping over him and holding him up. Jim’s _nothing_ , just a doll, whatever Bones wants him to be. He pants and gasps and moans in Bones’ arms, barely even flinching the next time sharp teeth sink into the back of his neck. He hopes it leaves a bruise. He wants to be covered in bruises. He wants to be black and blue with Bones’ love and have Bones’ name tattooed on his back. He’s fucked too hard to think straight, doesn’t care, wants more. They’ve barely even used the drawer, and Bones has already transformed. Bones hisses, “You’re not going to come, are you, Ensign Kirk?”

What? Jim shakes, oh no, of course he’s going to, can’t help it—his thighs tremble and his toes curl, knees shifting; he wanted to, of course he did. He can’t? But he’s going to. He’s so full of cock that he knows it’s all he’ll think about for days, all he’ll dream about. Bones laughs darkly in his ear and scrapes hard teeth along his cheek. “You’re not going to make me go back to the drawer, are you? Let’s see, what should you have... I’ve got a whole collection of cockrings, of course, but an eager slut like you probably needs something more... how about a nice cage? How would you like that, hm?” 

“ _No,_ ” Jim moans, “No, please...” He’d wear it for Bones, he’d wear anything. His words come out slurred, half-formed. He’s worn cock cages before for other masters, and he hated them; they were so humiliating, but now he just can’t stand the thought of not being able to come, not with Bones getting him so hot...

“I could stick a little rod in the end,” Bones growls, “wrap a few rings around the base, plug you up... I won’t need the plugs and vibrators for you, though, will I? Your ass is just for my dick...”

Jim nods, nods wildly, yes, just _that._ He’d press his ass back into it, but he has no control. Bones’ deep voice washes over him and makes him crazy. “That’s right, Ensign... lose yourself to my cock... but don’t you _dare_ come, you filthy slut. I don’t care how hot you are, how hard I make you—when your balls start to tighten, you hold them back.” But they’re doing just that, and Jim half-whimpers, half-groans, he can’t help it, he’s so close, so close, his stomach’s constricting, he’s going to, going to—

He _screams_ at the top of his lungs, spilling all over his own stomach and the sheets below, and Bones keeps fucking him, tossing him back and forth so his cock bounces and spurts everywhere. Jim comes so hard, so much; there’s no way Bones won’t notice. He keeps screaming and screaming through his scratched throat, his whole body clenched with the orgasm and his eyes seeing white. He’s going to go insane. Bones is going to fuck him insane. 

Bones grabs his twitching, spent cock and snarls in his ear, “What did I just tell you, you stupid cunt?” There’s no time for Jim to say sorry, even if he could be coherent enough for it to make sense. “You’re lucky your ass is so tight and I’m not done with it, or I’d march right back to the drawer and take out my paddle. Or maybe my whip, or maybe even the flogger, cut some pretty red lines into your ass...” Jim keens: anything, anything. Coming didn’t give back any of his sanity.

When Bones pulls back, Jim expects it to keep going, endless and relentless, but instead he’s wrenched out of. Jim gasps, dribbling lube down his thighs and twitching in the open air, furrowed entrance stretched so wide. Bones reaches over him and clicks something on the handcuffs—they burst open. 

Jim has less than a split-second of freedom before his wrists are grabbed and yanked behind his back, locked back together instantly. Without them, he has no balance, Bones’ arms on him the only thing holding him up. As soon as Bones lets go, Jim expects to fall, but he’s pulled up by his hair and tossed aside, falling sideways into the bed. He lies there, panting, barely even able to see through his heavy lashes and his dilated pupils, and Bones grunts, “I don’t see why I should have to do all the work, especially with a disobedient cockslut like you.” Jim flexes his bound fingers, shifting in the mattress. The sheets stick to his stomach where they touch him. Bones is a _god_.

Bones isn’t done. His cock’s still rock hard, wet and shining, jutting up in the air as he lies down. He pumps the base once and nods down at it, ordering, “Well? Get on it!” Jim doesn’t have to be told twice. 

It’s difficult to scramble without the use of his arms, but he manages, and as soon as he throws one leg over to straddle Bones’ hip, Bones helps. He jerks Jim down by the waist, lining them up and shoving in like he never left, impaling Jim completely again. Jim’s head tosses back, groaning hard, and he falls down, only making it worse. He yelps, but can’t help it. How is he supposed to concentrate long enough to stay up like this? Bones bucks up into him, tossing him into the air, and Jim loses his breath, seeing stars. He just came, this should hurt, but it doesn’t, feels _so good_. Bones always hits the right spot. Bones is rocking into him and Jim tries to be good, tries so hard. 

This would be easier if his arms were in front of him. If he could put his palms on Bones’ stomach, it’d give him leverage, but instead they rest at his own ass; the only thing to work with is his own knees and thighs. He pushes himself up and falls down, letting gravity do the work. He pauses to gasp, to get used to it. Bones bucks again, Jim lifts again. Bones hisses, “This is all you got, kid? I thought you wanted a ride on your favourite doctor?”

Jim’s never wanted anything else. He steels himself and nods. He lifts up, falls down, does it again, again, and Bones’ hips help, stab up into him, over and over. He tries to help, but it winds into Bones fucking him, so powerful, even like this. Jim starts to get hard again. He can’t help it. He’s half ashamed, half horny as hell. Bones looks at it and snickers, and Jim would moan about how hot Bones is, how amazing, but he can barely form words. He just stares at his man with utter adoration all over his face. Now that he’s finally, finally able to see Bones’ eyes, he knows that the birthday anger is melting away—despite his words and his games, Bones is _loving_ this.

Bones even runs a hand up his stomach and announces, “Good boy...” Jim _beams_.

The only trouble with this position is that they’re too far apart. But no sooner does he think it than Bones is grabbing him, shoving him to the side. Jim loses balance, scream barely out of his mouth before he hits the mattress, ass still full as Bones moves with him. They roll until Bones is on top, surging down to smash their mouths together, the scream snatched from Jim’s lips. His arms dig into the mattress beneath him, knees spread and bent around Bones’ body, while Bones viciously fucks him into the bed. His cock is completely hard again in no time. He can’t help it. He is a complete slut for his Bones. 

Just like that, Bones is in charge again. Every powerful thrust drives Jim wild, each harder than the last, and he can’t even moan Bones’ name like he wants, because his mouth is full of tongue. Bones steals his breath, not letting up, tugs his hair and his nipples and cruelly bypasses his cock. The belt’s still around his neck, but the end is trapped beneath his body. His shoulders are so sore that he thinks they might dislocate, and he still wouldn’t care. He’s barely even functioning, alive through one little tube that consists solely of what he can give to his master. 

And then Bones is pulling out of him with a roar, and hot jets of cum splatter all over Jim’s body, shooting so high that it hits his face, eyes closing just in time. Bones comes and comes, painting his stomach, his chest, the insides of his thighs—a stray gob hits his dick, and he can’t take it; he comes a second time. He doesn’t have much left to give, not nearly as much as Bones, but the third load hits his stomach, mingling with the two other sets. Jim’s panting for air and overcome with lust, able to do nothing but moan and writhe. 

And then it’s dying down, and he’s a mess, a complete mess, bound and sticky and fucked stupid, and he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to look at Bones’ handsome, finally smiling face. 

Wondering distantly if the ruse is over, Jim mumbles brokenly, “Fuck, Bones, you’re... you’re _amazing_...”

Bones’ face flitters into something vaguely resembling guilt. He slumps down in the mattress, breathing hard, but he couldn’t possibly be as sore and exhausted as Jim. After a minute, Bones nods to himself and gently nudges Jim; Jim rolls onto his side. The handcuffs are released and pulled away. 

Jim uses his arms to reach out, delighted when Bones slips into them, a tight, fierce hug. It gets the mess on Jim’s stomach all over Bones, but Jim can’t care, just holds him and murmurs, “Happy birthday.” 

Bones chuckles softly and says, “Thanks.”

“I love you, you know. I love so, so much.”

“Even on my birthday when I’m an asshole?”

Jim just laughs. As soon as their arms detangle, he falls back to the bed. He can’t support himself. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it might as well be the middle of the night. He pushes some sweat slicked bangs off his forehead and sighs, “If next year goes like this one, _especially_ then.” He throws Bones a smirk and adds, “You know, I think we should add a no-limits birthday rule. Which means you better start planning for next year. ...Maybe you can even get Spock to lend you the bridge and you can fuck me in the captain’s chair.” Bones gives him a soft smile. 

But then Bones mutters, “I’m going to be even older next year.”

Jim wisecracks, “So am I.” 

Bones just rolls his eyes. 

Bones leans down and pecks Jim on the lips, settling beside him, trying to find parts of the blankets to pull up that aren’t damp. Bones looks away as he drawls pseudo-casually, “You know, that was only the surface of the drawer...” Jim’s not sure if he looks horrified or excited as hell, but Bones leaves it there. Instead he just asks, “I suppose you’re not scared off?”

Jim just repeats, “I love you.” It should be obvious.

Bones grins. It lights him all up, so gorgeous. He says softly, “I love you too, kid.” And Jim knows that it’s a rare and precious thing, so he clings to those words, learning their sound by heart. “Lights.”

As they’re plunged into darkness, Jim can’t help but mumble, “I never did get to lick birthday cake off your dick like I wanted to.”

Snorting, Bones grunts, “There’s always midnight snacks.” Jim snuggles closer, glowing. He’s all draped over Bones, even though it’s searing hot. Bones holds him back, just right. 

Jim falls asleep within minutes, more satiated than he’s ever been.


End file.
